On the Contrary
by Madam'zelleGiry
Summary: Holmes will never forgive himself for what he has inadvertantly done to Watson.
1. Tragedy

_I suppose I should be working on __Deadly Doses_ _but I was provided a muse that I simply couldn't get rid of until I wrote it out. A big thank you to Feeble Pen, who originally came up with this story but discontinued it for lack of inspiration. Thank you for allowing me to continue it. I hope you all enjoy!_

It all started when Watson received a letter from an old friend in the country, inviting him to stay for a week. Watson had been pleased to hear from his friend and had informed me that he planned to accept the invitation. I must admit that I was not pleased.

"But why do you wish to go Watson? Are you not happy here?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Holmes." He had replied with a shake of the head. "I will only be gone for a week. I have not seen Mr. Allerton in many months and a trip to the country will be good for me."

"Just what the doctor ordered." I had scowled but I knew that the battle was lost. The next day I agreed to accompany him to the station and wave him off.

When I returned to the flat, I delved into my experiments, much as I did before Watson came to live with me. I gave Ms. Hudson the week off to keep her from cleaning up my hard work and because I found it easier to concentrate if not disturbed. I spent that lonely week alternating between plucking at my violin and creating chemical concoctions, the odor of which could have easily knocked a grown man off his feet. As the need for space and distraction grew, the state of the flat grew critical: furniture pushed against the walls so that I could set up tables for work, scribbled notes strewn in complete disorder, and chemical brews occupying every spare container I could find. The loneliness that I had once welcomed in my younger days now threatened to drive me over the edge.

It was late in the evening when Watson finally walked through the door, bright eyed and red cheeked. "Dear God Holmes!" He exclaimed. "I'm gone for one week and you turn this place upside down!" With a shake of his head, he hung his coat on a rack, the only thing still in its place in the room. He looked around in exasperation as though trying to decide whether to clean up the mess or let it go. Finally, he let out a defeated sigh of exhaustion. I smiled in my mind, my back to him, and resumed plucking my violin as if I hadn't heard him.

"Well, At least there's some tea to ease my nerves a little." I heard the clink of the teapot to a cup and frown in confusion. _Tea? __Ms. Hudson hasn't been by and I certainly didn't make any tea._ I whirled around, dropping the instrument in my hands, but it is too late. He had already taken a hearty sip. I saw his face contort in disgust and I wracked my brains, trying to remember what was actually in the pot.

"What have you done with the te-" His expression is one of revulsion. Even as I watched, revulsion turned to confusion and pain. The blood drained from his face as he trailed off and keeled over, hitting his head on the table on the way down. I immediately rushed to his side, examining his unconscious body. He had sustained only a minor cut on his forehead but it had already started to form into a small bump that would undoubtedly get bigger and bruise.

I picked up the teacup and examined what remained of its contents. It looked enough like tea and perhaps it had been once. Then I remembered I had been working on a substance that would render a man unconscious. I had been in the process of heating it up when I heard a cab pull up and Watson bit good morrow to a man. Yes… That's when I put the teapot down and rushed to the opposite side of the room and picked up my violin and began to pluck absentmindedly, looking out the window.

I lifted him up and carried him to his room, feeling utterly helpless. I tucked his limp form into bed before hurrying downstairs to ring for Mrs. Hudson. After a quick explanation and a plea for her to return, I rang off and hurried back to Watson's side. Unable to do anything to help him, I sat on a chair beside his bed, waiting until he regained consciousness. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Frustration curdled in my mind as I rued myself for my own stupidity. Of course, Watson would have wanted a cup of tea after his long journey. Of course, he would have reached for the tea…

I was beginning to drift off when I suddenly heard Watson shift in his bed. I opened my eyes to see Watson staring at me blankly. "Ah, old boy you're all right. How do you feel?" The words felt awkward in my mouth as I searched for something to say.

His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes, well. I'm terribly sorry about that whole tea mess." I shifted uncomfortably under his chilling stare. He had never looked at me that way and it caught me off guard. "Right." I looked down unable to make eye contact much longer. "Is there anything you need?"

Now, I have been a man that has been prepared for just about anything, expecting the unexpected and have never been so frightened and horrified as I had been when I heard Watson.

His words: "Who are you?"


	2. At a Loss

_Now, I have been a man that has been prepared for just about anything, expecting the unexpected and have never been so frightened and horrified as I had been when I heard Watson._

_His words: "Who are you?"_

Those words struck a chord in my heart. I felt taken aback, eyes widening in either shock or horror, I really could not say which. "Why…I am Sherlock Holmes, Watson. I am your friend."

"Sherlock Holmes…" Watson seemed to test the words in his mouth, listening to them in hopes of recognition. "Watson…"

The door opened and I looked up. Mrs. Hudson woman entered, still dressed in her coat and hat. She pulled off her gloves as she smiled in a motherly fashion. "It's good to see you awake, doctor. Mr. Holmes sounded quite anxious about you. I'll just put the tea kettle on."

At the mention of the words 'tea kettle' I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and cleared my throat, trying to avoid her attention.

"Don't you worry Mr. Holmes. He'll be up and about in no time at all."

"Excuse me, ma'am." The perplexed expression on Watson's face had only intensified when Mrs. Hudson entered. "But who might you be?"

Mrs. Hudson, halfway out the room at this point, paused in the doorway and turned back to face him. "Dr. Watson, for shame. This is not the time for your jesting. Mr. Holmes has been very worried about you."

"Mrs. Hudson," I could hardly keep my voice from shaking as I rose from my chair. "Could I speak with you in the hall?"

Mrs. Hudson gave a quick shrug and allowed me to lead her into the hall. Once we were alone, I turned to face her. But before I could speak, she launched into a speech of her own.

"Mr. Holmes, I must insist you tell me exactly what happened. If Dr. Watson has truly lost his memory..." Here she trailed off, eyes going distant for a moment. "You mentioned something about one of your experiments?"

I cleared my throat again and glanced over my shoulder at the closed bedroom door. "Dr. Watson accidentally ingested one of my chemical experiments, yes. But the object of the formula was to render a man unconscious, not to erase his memory."

"Tell that to your friend who has!" Mrs. Hudson was livid. "But you said that he struck his head as he fell. Would that be enough to destroy his memories?"

"Perhaps…" I was silent, considering. "I'll have to do a bit of research. I hadn't tested the formula. I don't know how potent it is. It is possible that this is a side effect that I hadn't corrected."

"But will the doctor's memories ever be corrected?"

"I don't know. I truly don't know."

_AN: A short chapter, I know. But I'll have the next one up shortly and the story will move again._


	3. Unbearable

"_But will the doctor's memories ever be corrected?"_

"_I don't know. I truly don't know."_

Over the next few weeks, I observed Watson, hoping for a clue to the cause of his memory loss. I scrawled the symptoms of his behavior in my laboratory notebook so that I might discover the effects of my chemical concoction. An outsider might have accused me of being heartless but the truth was that I simply could not face him. Every time I looked at his face, the only thing there was blank confusion. His eyes were somewhat hollow, as if they truly were a window to his distraught soul.

Watson seemed much altered by the experience. He recovered from his head injury relatively quickly and was now out of bed. I managed to persuade him to stay on with me, fearing what might happen to him if he wandered in the streets. He seemed aware that there was something not quite right in his head. I saw the frustration in his face at times when he struggled to call upon memories that were no longer accessible. Ignoring the obvious, there seemed to be few side effects that plagued him. As much as I'd like to report that it was good news, the lack of side effects aggravated me. It meant that I could not be sure if his memory loss was due to the head injury or the drug.

Mrs. Hudson was sympathetic to the doctor and he seemed to warm up to her. Her motherly nature seemed to appeal to him and I was glad that he found someone he could speak to. The guilt in my heart kept me from being suitable company.

One evening, I sat in my bedroom reflecting on the fact that I was never superb company. I had never told Watson just how much he meant to me as a friend and companion. As I sat in silence, I swallowed hard as realization washed over me. I am truly lost without my Boswell. _I will never forgive myself if I cannot cure him._

I was startled out of my musing by a knock on my door. "Come in," I called.

The door opened and Watson stepped into the room, looking a bit shy. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I can see you're busy…" He made as if to exit the room and I sat up a bit straighter on the bed.

"Nonsense, Watson. Come in, please, come in."

Watson gave a little cough but obediently sat himself in a chair next to the bed.

"What can I do for you, Watson?" I found myself using his name far too often, praying for recognition. His eyes still haunted me and I was forced to avert my gaze.

"I…I just wanted to tell you…I'm sorry." He flushed and looked down at his hands.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry, old boy?"

"For the worry I've caused you. I wish that I could remember you. I wish that I could remember anything from my past." I looked up to see tears in his eyes and my heart began to bleed. "I can't remember anything. I don't know why there is an old rusty pistol in my bedroom. I don't know why my shoulder pains me when it rains. Why my leg aches in the night. How I came to live with you. Why I can't remember anything to begin with…" His voice wavered, and his took a shaky breath. "And I can't bear it. Isn't there anything you can do for me?"

The tears in his voice threatened to shatter my being. I swallowed hard, searching for an answer. I wanted with all my heart to say 'Of course I can, Watson. Of course, I can make you better. All you had to do was ask'. But I couldn't. My voice failed me and I looked down at my hands again, a single tear slipping down my cheek.

"I'm sorry for bothering you." Watson got to his feet, still looking horrible. "I just thought…"

I heard him leave the room and close the door with a quiet click. The silence that resonated was so deafening that I could not hold back the tears. I put my head in my hands and wept.


	4. Fury

"_I'm sorry for bothering you." Watson got to his feet, still looking horrible. "I just thought…"_

_I heard him leave the room and close the door with a quiet click. The silence that resonated was so deafening that I could not hold back the tears. I put my head in my hands and wept._

It was a long time before I finally raised my head and wiped away the tears. A sense of relief filled my aching being: the mounting pressure and stress of the past few weeks had been vanquished, leaving me free to pursue a cure for the good doctor. I buried myself in my studies, looking through my notes, chemical handbooks, and even a few medical books belonging to Watson. For days on end, I shut myself away in my bedroom, reading and researching for a cure. The image of Watson's haunted face spurred me on as hunger and thirst began to plague my being.

Several times over the next few days, Mrs. Hudson would bang irritably on my door. In her obnoxiously mother-like way, she insisted that I come out and eat and to comfort the distraught doctor. Apparently, Watson was taking my disappearance to heart. But I would dismiss her with a short remark, not interested in her help, so determined was I to pin my quarry down.

I had told Mrs. Hudson to turn away any clients, to tell them to come back later. Grudgingly, she had agreed so I was surprised when she knocked on the door one day and informed me that I had a visitor.

"Mrs. Hudson, haven't I told you already? I am not receiving visitors?"

"I think you might want to see this one, Mr. Holmes." I heard her skirts swishing softly in the hall as she left me to decide for myself. After grappling with my own stubbornness for a short while, I dragged a comb through my hair and opened the door.

I straightened my jacket as I hurried down the hall to the sitting room, wondering who in the world could convince my landlady to give them entrance. A young man, about Watson's age, sat in Watson's favorite chair. His face was lean and pale and his eyes suggested that he had not slept in several days. _Rather like looking in a mirror…_I reflected with bitter humor.

"Mr. Holmes," he rose when he saw me in the doorway, extending his hand for me to shake. "I'm so sorry to bother you but I think you'd do well to hear me out."

"I'm not accepting any cases at present," I said, ignoring his outstretched hand. "I have more pressing matters to attend to."

"I know. I had quite a time convincing your landlady to let me in." He shook his unkempt hair out of his weary eyes. "But won't you please listen? It will hardly take any time at all. You see, I know what's wrong with Watson."

I froze at his words, careful not to let my shock display on my face. "Explain."

"May I sit?"

I nodded impatiently, gesturing at nothing.

"My name is Henry Allerton. Watson came to visit me recently?" He paused, waiting for recognition.

When I stared blankly at him, he cringed slightly and continued. "I asked him down purely for a social visit. But while he was there, he admitted to me that his bad shoulder was bothering him. Well, being something of a dabbler in science, I prescribed a little known drug to help with the pain. It seemed to help. But after he left, I realized that the dose I gave him was too strong. Hallucinations and memory loss are a common side effect of this drug."

My jaw stiffened and my fists clenched as I listened. _He's not even a medical man. How dare he 'prescribe' something he knows nothing about? How dare he do this to Watson?_

"I'm afraid that I caused this." He looked thoroughly miserable as he spoke. "I - "

He paused as the door opened and Watson came in, looking pale and gaunt. His haunted eyes surveyed myself and our guest with an expression of confusion.

"This is Mr. Allerton, Watson." I said, waving my hand in his direction. "He came to consult me on a matter of little importance."

Watson offered a curt nod and turned back to me. "Sorry to have disturbed you. I'll be going now."

Before I could protest, he had left the room. I turned back to Mr. Allerton. "See what you've done to him with your foolishness? He has no idea who he or anyone else is. He can't remember anything. All because you thought you'd play doctor for a bit of fun."

"I didn't mean to do this!" his voice raised an octave. "I'm sorry!"

"I don't want your apologies. I want Watson back. The real Watson."

"But I can't!"

"How can I reverse this? What did you give him?" I rose from my chair, grabbing at his collar with an expression of fury.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes." His voice quavered. "But I can't help you. I don' t know. I…" He wasn't making sense anymore, so caught up was he with his fear. I now held him several inches off the floor and his voice failed him completely, as he made strangled frantic noises.

The door opened and Mrs. Hudson hurried in. "I thought I heard raised voices," Her expression was one of shock as she surveyed our positions. Finally I let his collar go and he collapsed to the floor, massaging his throat.

Mrs. Hudson reprimanded me as she hurried to assist the man on the floor but I barely heard her. _Oh Watson. What will we do now?_


	5. Desperation

_The door opened and Mrs. Hudson hurried in. "I thought I heard raised voices," Her expression was one of shock as she surveyed our positions. Finally I let his collar go and he collapsed to the floor, massaging his throat. _

_Mrs. Hudson reprimanded me as she hurried to assist the man on the floor but I barely heard her. Oh Watson. What will we do now?_

Mr. Allerton left the flat as soon as Mrs. Hudson was sure he hadn't sustained any permanent damage. His skinny form scampered down the street, rather resembling the gait of a madman. I stood at the window, watching him, as Mrs. Hudson ranted and railed at me for my 'reckless behavior.' In truth, I don't think I've ever seen her in such a state as she was. Shaking slightly, I set down the syringe that I was clutching in my right hand. As the cocaine established itself my system, I let out a sigh of relief and cleared my throat softly.

"You'll be bloody lucky if he doesn't go to the police!" she shrilled. "You can't just go about manhandling anyone who makes you angry. I know you're upset about the doctor, Mr. Holmes, but -" She trailed off suddenly and looked sharply at me. "What happened? What did he say?"

I swallowed hard before turning away from the window. "It does not matter." As she began to protest again, I held up my hand. Suddenly, a pain in my stomach hit me like a fist, overtaking me and I twisted in agony, teetering dangerously. Mrs. Hudson hurried to catch me but she wasn't strong enough. I collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath.

"What's happening, Mr. Holmes?" Her voice was frightened and she sat back on her heels in terror.

I could feel my heartbeat accelerating dangerously. I struggled for breath that seemed reluctant to enter my lungs. "Get Watson." I said through clenched teeth, grimacing. Mrs. Hudson froze for a long moment. "Mrs. Hudson!" I cried out, feeling my arm going numb where I had injected the drug. "I've sustained an overdose! I…need…Watson."

"But I don't see how he is going to be able to help! His memory loss -" The look that I shot her through the pain seemed to shock her into silence and she hurried from the room.

It seemed an eternity before she returned, with Watson and his medical bag in tow. Watson looked frightened, protests still streaming from his lips. "But Mrs. Hudson. Even if I was a doctor at one point, surely that's gone now. I don't know what to do for him."

"Please, just try. Please, Dr. Watson."

**Authors Note: Oh dear. Don't murder me for leaving our boys in this dire predicament. I'll have another chapter up shortly. Really. I will.**


	6. Unbelievable

_It seemed an eternity before she returned, with Watson and his medical bag in tow. Watson looked frightened, protests still streaming from his lips. "But Mrs. Hudson. Even if I was a doctor at one point, surely that's gone now. I don't know what to do for him."_

"_Please, just try. Please, Dr. Watson."_

As Watson pulled my shirt off with trembling hands, I caught a glimpse of the inflamed skin around the injection site on my arm. I let out an involuntary groan of pain as he gently probed the skin. Watson let out a low hiss and I could hear him rummaging about in his bag. I felt the injection of another needle on my arm a moment later and the world suddenly seemed to dim and disappear before my very eyes.

Almost an eternity later, I slowly opened my eyes. The first thing I was aware of was that I lay in my own bed. The covers were pulled tightly around me and I felt strangely warm and comfortable. Sunlight streamed through the open window, bringing with it the scent of the warm London breeze. The horrible pains in my stomach had gone; the numbness mysteriously vanished. As I became more aware of my surroundings, I saw the Watson sat in the chair beside the bed, eyes closed in sleep.

He seemed to hear me stir because his eyes suddenly opened. "How are you feeling, Holmes?"

I was silent for a moment, considering. "What happened, Watson?"

"An overdose of cocaine." His expression was stern. "I've told you time and again, Holmes, that -" Suddenly he broke off, looking astonished at the words coming from his mouth.

"Watson," I could scarcely breathe, struggling into a sitting position. "What did you say?"

"I remembered." The words were a whisper and a smile broke over his face. "I remembered!" His voice raised an octave and he began to laugh. His joyful laughter was infectious and soon my own laugh mingled with his. My strength seemed to return in an instant and I embraced my brother in joy. He returned the gesture, tears of joy streaming from his eyes.

The sounds attracted Mrs. Hudson, who opened the door with a questioning look. Watson sprang from his chair and embraced her, lifting her off her feet and whirling around. At first, she appeared shocked. Then her expression was one of joy that rivaled Watson's and her laughter sounded.


	7. Epilogue

I steadily recovered over the next few weeks. Watson and Mrs. Hudson kept a close eye on me and I was secretly glad for their concern, though I'd never admit it. Watson's memory hadn't come back in full during the incident with the cocaine but his doctor assured me that he was making excellent progress. Apparently, seeing me in dire need had been enough to jar most of his medical knowledge to the surface.

One evening, I sat in my favorite armchair, eyeing the needle. Watson sat across from me, staring disapprovingly at the syringe. "Did you do it on purpose, Holmes?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Watson."

"Take an overdose."

I considered this for a moment, not certain whether I should be offended or touched. Evidently, Watson wouldn't put it past me to take an overdose just to bring his memory back. "No." I said finally. Honestly. The word surprised even me and I had to stop and consider. Then I remembered. I had measured out a dose some hours before I took the overdose. Mr. Allerton. I'd been in such a state that I didn't even check the dosage. Shaking my head in disgust, I relayed this information to Watson.

"But why would Mr. Allerton want to kill you?" I noted that Watson went straight for the worse case scenario.

"I'm not sure that he did." I admitted. "But I know that he measured the overdose. I have Wiggins to thank for that."

Watson didn't look convinced. "Well at least…" he seemed to wrestle with himself for a conclusion to the sentence. When none seemed to satisfy him, he looked up at me and sighed.

"Well, what have we learned from this?" I said, in a mock disapproving tone.

"I can't leave you alone for a moment, Holmes." Sighs Watson. "You simply get into too much trouble on your own."

_Authors Notes: Thank you to all my loyal readers! I'm sorry this conclusion took forever to finish. Stay tuned for updates on my Holmes/Poirot crossover!_


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